July 2013

July 30, 2013

As series editor of The Best American Poetry, I get to have a say, sometimes a large say, in the cover art we use each year. As I love looking at pictures, the need to produce a new cover each year has given me an extra reason to frequent galleries and museums. It is fun to be constantly on the lookout. It can change the way you look at a painting, a photograph, or a collage, adding a new dimension to the experience.
Choosing cover art is not a unilateral process: My editor at Scribner, others at Scribner, including the art director and the publisher, and my literary agent (Glen Hartley), are among those whose opinions matter. Here are the covers we have run. We hope you will weigh in, too. View the slide show in full screen and select the "show info" option to see the names of the artists and titles of the art work. -- DL

July 28, 2013

A, silver, E, snow, U, dead-leaf green:Spoons with sugar and dripping water, hillocks of snowTraversed by hopeful young men with a moneyed
glowAnd sleds and perspiration, silver-blue clouds againChilling the horizon, a thousand miles to go.Leave these ‘adventurers’, laughing in betweenSigning media deals and muttering something obscene.Schoolboys worship them, writing out a motto

In Latin, about suffering and stiff upper lips.I, salmon sandwiches and hot chips.O, the empty bottle is the colour of fear.Push on. You’ll make it home, at dawn.Who cares that you look a right prawn,Sipping absinthe in the Pub with No Beer.

his bronze portrait bust of German composer Richard Wagner, by artist Arno Breker, resides in Bayreuth, Germany, home of the annual festival honoring his work. (Getty Images )

She is Richard Wagner’s great-granddaughter, and her life has been
dominated by the light and shade of his genius. But as a teenager
growing up in Bavaria in the 1950s and ’60s, Eva Wagner-Pasquier went
googly-eyed for an altogether different musical icon: Elvis Presley. She
remembers the excitement he stirred up more than half a century ago
merely by passing through a neighboring town on maneuvers with the U.S.
Army. So last year, joined by her American-born son Antoine, Eva finally
trekked off to Graceland to pay homage to the King. “I’ve always wanted
to go there,” she said, flipping open her cellphone to display the
idealized image of Elvis she uses as wallpaper. “It was superb! We
stayed at the Heartbreak Hotel, of course.”

The trip to Memphis was a lighthearted escape from the burdens of
running a family business like no other. Since 2008, when Eva and her
half-sister Katharina succeeded their father Wolfgang Wagner, they have
directed the famed summer opera festival founded in 1876 by Richard
Wagner and managed by his heirs ever since. In this bicentennial year of
the composer’s birth, Wagner devotees are now setting forth on their
annual pilgrimage to the seat of his still-powerful cultural domain: the
charming city of Bayreuth (pronounced BY-royt), nestled far
from Germany’s urban centers, in the rolling hills of Upper Franconia.
“Wagner without Bayreuth,” observes the cultural historian Frederic
Spotts, “would have been like a country without a capital, a religion
without a church.”

From July 25 through August 28, the faithful will ascend the city’s
famed Green Hill to the orange brick–clad Bayreuth Festival
Theater—known globally as the Festspielhaus. It was built by Wagner himself to present his revolutionary works—among them his four-part Ring cycle, Tristan und Isolde and Parsifal—in
the innovative architecture and stagings he felt they required. The
Bayreuth Festival became the first full-fledged music festival of modern
times, the granddaddy of everything from Salzburg and Spoleto to
Bonnaroo, Burning Man and the Newport Jazz Festival. At Bayreuth,
however, only Wagner’s works are presented. After his death in 1883, the
festival and the theater became a hallowed shrine for his followers,
many of whom embraced his ideology of fierce German nationalism, racial
superiority and anti-Semitism. He was idolized by Adolf Hitler, whose
rise was abetted by the Wagner family’s support in the early 1920s.

July 24, 2013

(Ed note: This is part III of Peter Fortunato's series about life in Qatar. Read part I here and part II here.)

Qatar and its captial city Doha are in the desert -- no matter how you pave it, or drive it, or air condition the new buildings. (photo (c) Peter Fortunato)

The prospect of the job and of Doha
itself were from the beginning almost hallucinatory. After four years over
there, I could comfortably refer to it as “my other life,” though all of it remained
improbable -- this city-state springing whole from the desert floor, bounding
forward in less than two decades to become the richest per capita nation on the
planet! I was happy to return to Ithaca when
it was over, and yet, four years back, that other life begins to shimmer in my
imagination. I rode fantastic horses and
I wrote well while I lived in Doha. I
moved in international circles among the prominent thinkers of many fields. I started to paint seriously once again, and
when I told people I was an artist they paid attention. It was a place for
dreams, all of us felt it, the vast possibilities – at least until you felt it starting
to close in on you, that tiny peninsula with its restrictive customs and new
laws, its expensive air fares, choked roadways, constant construction, and the
ever rising cost of daily life, unmatched by commensurate pay raises (for the
expats anyway). Place of paradox: a desert always, despite the many amenities
to comfort the professional class and to
inspire the nationals. Not many people had
ever lived on this Saharan peninsula in the past; the heat and isolation would
still make it impossible today without the modern infrastructure. And yet, paradoxically, I stayed in part because
I liked the hot sun on my skin, liked the taste of salt thick on my lips after
a morning of galloping horses on the beach (though that too ended when a vast
housing project, an entire “city” near Doha began.) Before they became clotted with automobile
and truck traffic at all hours, I liked cruising the nameless desert highways,
where, as if out of the hazy past, a pack of grazing camels might suddenly appear.

In
2005 when I arrived, the nation’s economy was the fastest growing in the world,
increasing yearly at a rate of more than 20%.
I literally watched the Qatar Financial Center grow alongside my
apartment tower, and watched on satellite TV the adverts for its investment
services broadcast worldwide by the BBC.
Whether you wore a white collar or one of the ubiquitous blue jumpsuits of
the construction workers, you couldn’t help but feel like you were helping to
create something positive. You couldn’t
help but admire the country’s farsighted Emir, Sheikh Hamad, and his wife, the trail-blazing
Sheikha Mozah. Just yesterday, in a move
unprecedented in the Gulf Arab World, His Highness peacefully abdicated his
throne in favor of his son. It had been
expected, it was only a matter of time, but this too is a sign of how quickly
the future is arriving for the Qataris.
What will it bring? Nowadays they
drive Porches and BMW’s, Ferraris and Lamborghinis on streets where their grandparents
walked in the dust.

The geometries of change can be arresting! (photo (c) Peter Fortunato)

July 23, 2013

(ed note: this is part II of Peter Fortunato's posts about Qatar. To read part I go here.)

“In Dreams Begin
Responsibilities,” Delmore Schwartz
famously wrote; and like him, I brought with
me the ghosts of my parents and all of their immigrant aspirations to my life
in a foreign country. It was never easy being seven thousand miles and twenty
two hours of air travel from home, a world away from family as well as the freedoms
and cultural touchstones of the West. Most
difficult of all was the separation from my wife, who had decided after one
semester to return to teaching in Ithaca.
It was a joint decision that I would commit to four years, yet on a
day-to-day basis it was primarily a matter of my own determination that kept me
there. Was I a fool? Had I been seduced by some received idea, an
outdated masculine ideal about self-worth and income? Was I guilty for having let my wife labor so
long at a job she didn’t exactly love, because of the financial benefits it
delivered? Or did I just want to get
away from it all, assuaging my doubts with the reassurance that since she and I
are both writers, this adventure would be good for both our independent
souls?

All
of the above. I spoke continually to
her and to myself about all of the above.
And I dreamt often of home, of my childhood, of my rural youth in the
Hudson Valley, of my first girlfriend, of
all my girlfriends, of Cornell as it had been in the 60’s and 70’s, the liberation
it had given me and that I wanted to communicate to college kids on the other
side of the planet. In fact, I felt
quite young again, a bachelor, even if that was not completely to my
liking. In that gender segregated, tolerant
but Islamic society, I daydreamed about sex constantly. I fantasized about the wife of a foreign
ambassador and almost embarrassed us both one day at our riding club when she lent
me her whip. On another day, a young
lady, a Qatari, began to chat me up while we brushed our horses -- until her
stern protective maid stepped between us.

The surreal quality of an ice skating rink in the giant shopping mall across from my tower never ceased to amuse me. (photo (c) Peter Fortunato)

July 22, 2013

Without Emma Lazarus' timeless poem, Lady Liberty would be just another statue.

Near the end of the 1942 movie Saboteur, one of director
Alfred Hitchcock's early American efforts, the heroine, played by
Priscilla Lane, catches up with an enemy agent at the top of the Statue
of Liberty. Pretending to flirt, she says it's her first time visiting
the statue. This must be a big moment for her, the villainous saboteur
replies with thin sarcasm. It is, she acknowledges with obvious feeling,
and abruptly quotes the best-known lines from Emma Lazarus' poem "The
New Colossus," engraved on the statue's pedestal:

Without ever ceasing to be a "wrong man" thriller, in which a falsely
accused hero must elude capture while tracking down the real culprit on
his own, Saboteur is also an ode to American freedom, and it
reaches its moral zenith here, with a statement of a special national
purpose. For many in 1942, shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor
catapulted the United States into World War II, Lazarus' welcome to the
world's displaced marked the difference between the Allied and Axis
powers.

Once again, Governor's Island is the setting for the annual Poetry Society of New York Poetry Festival. This years event promises to be even more thrilling than the 2012 fest. The lineup includes Lara Glenum, Cornelius Eady, Catherine Wagner, CA Conrad, Paul Legault, Todd Colby, Anne
Waldman, Geoffrey Nutter, Andrew Durbin, Miguel Algarin, J. Hope Stein, Bob Holman, Cathy Park Hong among others.

Governors Island

The organizers have lined up over 50 poetry organizations and 200 poets on its three stages; a Vendor’s Village where local booksellers, artists and craftmakers will sell their wares; the 3rd annual Ring of Daisies open mic;THE POETRY BROTHEL tent; a boozy area sponsored by BROOKLYN BREWERY, THE BROOKLYN SALSA COMPANY, and THE ABBEY in Brooklyn; healthy and delicious food options including THE MUD TRUCK, THE PALENQUE COLUMBIAN FOOD TRUCK, MORRIS GRILLED CHEESE, EVERYTHING ABOUT CREPES, and BIG D’S GRUB TRUCK; a spontaneous generation house where we’ll be writing collaborative poems; and, of course, the Children’s Festival at NYCPF, this year sponsored by WRITOPIA!

Sometimes
it seemed as if I were living in a dream of my own device – though sometimes, I wondered if I were also
dreaming the dreams of others, hundreds of thousands of us, “forced bachelors”
like me, raising the tiny country of Qatar
out of the sand and into the Twenty First Century.

I
was living twenty stories high in a building so new that one day, three years
into my occupancy, it occurred to me that I had inhabited the space longer than
any other human being in recorded history.
By then, during my last term teaching in Qatar, the name of the tower
had changed, its ownership mysteriously transferred to an influential sheikh,
and most of my original friends – whether faculty colleagues, oil company execs,
or the friendly Filipino attendants at the gym -- were gone. The resident of the penthouse, right above my
head, a representative of Shell Oil, was out of country so often that I never
knew if he’d absconded, like so many expats, contracts or patience expired. Often it felt as if the whole country or any
part of it I cared about could be replaced overnight; funky charm having no
leverage there against bigger, better, faster. By this time, 2009, my tower, for a few years the
tallest building in the West Bay desert, was dwarfed by more colossal
structures, and only one view of the Persian Gulf remained to me. Surely some other giant would soon blot that
out – or perhaps as a friend said, bag in hand bidding me farewell: “They’ll probably knock this old thing down
before too long and build something shiny in its place.”

View from Bilal (photo (c) Peter Fortunato)

We
were all dreamers, there.

My
own desert visions had to do with teaching future doctors at the start-up
medical school Cornell University was operating in partnership with the Qatar
Foundation for Education, Science and Community
Development. The topics of my
writing seminars for pre-med students were World Literature, and Literature and
Psychology. The students were from
everywhere, and I was inspired by their idealism, by their heartfelt gratitude
for what I could give them. After
decades of teaching required writing courses back in Ithaca, I felt I was being
truly rewarded, and my wages were by far the highest of my career.

“In
Dreams Begin Responsibilities,” Delmore
Schwartz famously wrote; and like him, I
brought with me the ghosts of my parents and all of their immigrant aspirations
to my life in a foreign country. It was never easy being seven thousand miles
and twenty two hours of air travel from home, a world away from family as well as
the freedoms and cultural touchstones of the West. Most difficult of all was the separation from
my wife, who had decided after one semester to return to teaching in
Ithaca. It was a joint decision that I would
commit to four years, yet on a day-to-day basis it was primarily a matter of my
own determination that kept me there. Was
I a fool? Had I been seduced by some
received idea, an outdated masculine ideal about self-worth and income? Was I guilty for having let my wife labor so
long at a job she didn’t exactly love, because of the financial benefits it
delivered? Or did I just want to get
away from it all, assuaging my doubts with the reassurance that since she and I
are both writers, this adventure would be good for both our independent
souls?

July 21, 2013

This week we welcome Peter Fortunato as our guest author. Peter is a writer, performer, ceremony maker, visual artist, and teacher.
He is also a practitioner of complementary alternative medicine specializing in hypnosis.
He lives in Ithaca, New York with his wife, the poet Mary Gilliland. Find him on Facebook at Peter Fortunato author.

Late Morning: New and Selected Poems,recently published by Cayuga Lake Books,surveys almost forty years of his work, beginning with selections from his earliest collections, A Bell or a Hook and Letters to Tiohero. Themes that compel Peter's work are love
of nature and human love, the revelatory power of dreams, and spiritual practice rooted in Buddhism. He is the winner
of numerous awards for his writing, including the Emily Dickinson Prize
of the Poetry Society of America, and a Pablo Neruda
Prize from the Arts and Humanities Council of Tulsa, Oklahoma,

July 20, 2013

New York was dusty in its caves
of windows, its tallest towers. The girl ran across the park, always late. They
had eaten at a place called Aureole, which is a nipple but which is also a
halo. She returned to her 23rd floor cubicle to no fanfare. When she
ran her finger across her desk it came up gray with dust. There in front of her
was the tall purple orchid her mother had brought, opening its mouths.

NA: You do so much: you’re a
poet, an artist, a painter, an editor of books and online print journals and so
much more. I’d like to begin by asking for a brief description of all that you
do.

DM: I am a parent first. I
have four children, two of which are grown up, and two still living at home. I
am single parent and I guess you could say that my work outside of the home (my
publications, art, etc.) is my husband. If I were still married, I don't think
I would have found these creative outlets. Although I started drawing portraits
as a child and into my teens, I stopped when I got married at 21 and art stayed
dormant until after the divorce(s). I found myself alone with four children all
under the age of ten. I had my mother to help me then. She now has Alzheimer's
but that is a different story. My sister, Ivonne, also was there for me but
finding a way to release my creativity in publishing and writing poems was one
of my saviors. It helped me become a happier person.

NA:You are also curating an
exhibition with Sergio Gomez at the Zhou B Art Center in Chicago next spring.
Could you describe that event? http://poetsandartists.com/fixation-2014/

DM: We had such a success with
this year's show "From Motion to Stillness"
(/) that
we wanted to do it again. Sergio Gomez invited me to
participate and by doing so it allowed the publication PoetsArtists to
become a living artwork. We could say that the publication became a performance
piece.

I am surrounded by such great talent 24/7 that it became evident
that this had to be the next step and somehow Sergio Gomez also gathered that
(being such a great curator and artist himself), and so it happened. Since the
show is based on figurative arts and poetry we went back and forth with ideas
for next year and finally settled on Fixation.

I wanted to have some artists from this year's show and some new
artists and poets which were not in this year's show such as

and more. We had such a great time in Chicago, getting to meet
each other, and we were invited to view the Tullman Art Collection at
Flashpoint and the art collection at the loft by Howard Tullman who has
acquired many of the artwork published in PoetsArtists.

NA: I love what I have seen of the film of Denise
Duhamel’s poem, “Sorry, Google doesn’t know jealousy” which will be
featured at the exhibit. What made you think of filming her poem?

DM: I wanted to showcase the
poems next to the artwork and thought of posters and other ways to have the
poems be as present and the art at the show, and Sergio Gomez said that we
could screen them in the gallery so I knew that was going to be the best way to
get the attention of the visitors.

This year we had a traditional reading and it just did not work
out well because of all the excitement in the room. Denise sent me several
poems, which I am publishing, but "Sorry, Google doesn't know
Jealousy" automatically started getting my attention. I started
visualizing the poem and it clicked that it should be read but should Denise
read it? How was I going to make this work? And then it dawned on me. As I
mentioned above, I am surrounded by artists and poets 24/7 so why not have a
line read by each? I didn't realize how many poets I was thinking about until I
started to count the lines. There are 65 lines in Denise's poem and that is how
many poets will be reading in the film.

NA: Denise, what inspired this
fabulous poem?

DD: Didi asked me to try to write something for the “fixation”
event she is curating with Sergio Gomez. I realized one of my fixations or
obsessions is jealousy. It seems sort of taboo to write about because I always
thought of it as such a shameful, immature emotion. But this invitation gave me
an excuse to really explore it. I wrote a few poems and then this long list
poem “Sorry, Google doesn’t know jealousy,” using googlism.

NA: That is so interesting! In Buddhism one is taught to
investigate her negative thoughts and feelings such as jealousy, resentment,
and anger. I always want to run away from them. But yet you go right into the
lion’s den. This poem and your new book, Blowout, http://
www.amazon.com/Blowout-Poetry-Series-Denise-Duhamel/dp/ 0822962365, about
your divorce are cases in point. Do you do this consciously? Are you ever
afraid to tackle a subject?

DD: I just saw a hokey church billboard that read, “Courage is
fear plus prayers.” I scoffed, but I had to admit that I liked it and could
relate. I don’t really pray in the traditional sense, but I say a prayer such
as, “please, universe, help me look this monster in the eye” sometimes when I
write. That is how I deal with writing about painful things.

NA: Also, Denise, what is it
like to see your poem as a film and read by 65 poets?

DD: It was pretty amazing! I loved seeing other poets interpret
the lines—yours, Nin, was hilarious, and one of the first ones Didi showed me.
Sometimes the clips were so depressing, almost scary, and then other times the
clips were goofy or lighthearted. It was very satisfying to see such sentiments
about jealousy come out of others’ mouths. Even though the poets didn’t write
the lines, their willingness to say them made me feel less crazy and alone in
my fixation.

NA: I have this strange
feeling that poetry has become like a silent film. Most of the time we are
alone with the words on a page. And now Didi is turning this silent experience
into talkies. Was it strange to hear your poem in so many voices?

DD: It wasn’t as strange as you might think. I had never read
the poem aloud myself when I sent it to Didi. It was brand new, only a few days
old, when I gave it to her. So it as though all these poets breathed the poem
into life, into a talkie, as you say.

NA: Back to Didi: You have
been publishing books and journals for some time now, but you have recently
begun to publish interactive books and journals for the iPad. What inspired you
to try this new venue?

DM: I love new software and
discovering new web sites. They become an online playground for me. Whenever I
run into one of these discoveries, I try to figure out how to use it to better
my publishing or art. This seemed like a perfect platform for what I do. So I
did it.

NA: I had the honor of having
you publish The Circus of Lost Dreams, a book I wrote in collaboration
with the Rhode Island artist, Emily Lisker.
(https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-circus-of-lost-dreams/ id623295035?mt=11)

It’s such a unique experience to see a book come to life. It’s
both auditory and visually rich. What an incredible amount of work it must be
to create a book like that! Are you planning a series of iPad books.

DM: I am currently publishing PoetsArtists
and iARTistas for the iPad. Your book was the first published
specifically for the iPad, although I had been publishing other books in print
and digital format in the last years. However I started to lose interest in
publishing these in a static format so I stopped for about a year until I
discovered being able to publish for the iPad. It turned me on. So I am back to
publishing chapbooks and books. I have a few planned out for later this year
including one by Matthew Hittinger and another by Diego Quiros. I don’t offer
open calls on these, I invite because I want to make sure to publish quality
work without having to find one in a heap of manuscripts and only later to find
out that the author is not tech savvy.

NA: You publish two online
journals, MiPOesiasand PoetsArtists, in which you are mixing poetry and art. I am wondering if the
poets and artists are beginning to communicate with one another, thanks to you?

DM:MiPOesias is
no longer being published. iARTistas is taking her place. I don't really
have a reason why MiPO is no longer being published other than it seemed
like the best thing to do with her. I felt she needed to be put out of her
misery (mine). As far as poets and artists communicating with each other,
you bet. I have them collaborate once or twice a year. The whole reason I
started publishing PoetsARtists in 2008 is because I wanted to have art
mixed in with the poems. I wanted to see them collide.

NA: Many poets I know are not
technically savvy. They don’t feel comfortable on the internet, and they don’t
know how to access your latest projects. But you are not afraid of technology,
and you are not afraid to be ahead of the curve? Is this a frustrating issue
for you?

DM: It is not a frustrating
issue for me. I am whistling my own tune here literally. I do understand that
all this techno babble is frustrating on others but I can't wait for the world.
I am almost 53 years old and I realize that maybe I have another 20 to 30 years
or so tops before I will have to stop all of this so in the meantime, I will do
my thing and hope that those that whistle along with me take advantage of it.

NA: When I first heard of you,
you were a poet and editor living in Miami. Now you are an accomplished artist
as well, living in Chicago. Tell me about your evolution. Have you been writing
and painting for many years?

DM: I am not living in Miami
and I do not live in Chicago either. I live in the Mid- west. Close to Chicago
but not without a few hours of travel to get there. As I mentioned early on in
the interview, I had been drawing and painting up to the time I got married.
When I moved here the winters were so lonely that the desire to start painting
started to nudge. I was already publishing and trying out new venues for
publishing but drawing and painting again really did not stir until the winter
of 2007. As far as evolution, what brought me here to the USA to begin with was
a (r)evolution so I have had to change many times over to accommodate my life.

Do you have a video, which includes your own art as well as a
mini-biography?

DM: I want to mention that
Jack Anders wrote the review on Cesar Santos. He is such a trooper. He normally
writes poetry reviews so to have him write one on Cesar Santos one of my
favorite artists was a treat for me as much as I am sure it was for Cesar.

Regarding my own work, not really. I did one as an example and
briefly posted it online so others can see what I was going to be doing with
their videos but then took it down once I started producing the real McCoy's.

NA: I also love the videos of
your paintings from start to finish. I was wondering if you would post a link
to one of them and talk about your process?

Oh these are just little drawings I do on the iPad. I do these
mostly when I run out of art supplies.

DM: How many books and journal issues do you
publish each year?

NA: From 10 to 20 depending on
whether I have themes or not. Or whether I publish a chapbook or full book that
year.

DM: What aspects of publishing
and editing, painting and making videos, do you enjoy most?

I enjoy algebra the most. If I publish A what will become of B?

NA: I’d like to close with a
poem or perhaps a link to a poem or an issue of that you are particularly
pleased with.

DM: I want to close with this
issue of MiPOesiaswhich was published
in 2008 and edited by Emma Trelles. It is the only publication of mine where
you will actually find a poem written by me. Emma and I went back and forth with this call because I was adamant about not including my work
because it is a major faux to the credibility and integration of my
publications but since she was the editor and I had given her control of who
and what to publish, she won.

Didi Menendez is a Cuban born (1960) American artist and
publisher. Her publications have been recognized by The Pushcart Prize and Best
American Poetry and other anthologies. She lives with her children in the
middle of the United States of America. She never plans on visiting Cuba. Ever.
Not even if it is the last place on earth to live. Not even then.

Nin Andrews received her BA from Hamilton College
and her MFA from Vermont College. The recipient of two Ohio Arts Council
grants, she is the author of several books including The
Book of Orgasms, Spontaneous Breasts, Why They Grow Wings, Midlife
Crisis with Dick and Jane, Sleeping with Houdini, and Dear Professor, Do
You Live in a Vacuum. She also edited Someone Wants to Steal My Name, a book of translations of the French poet, Henri Michaux. Her book, Southern Comfort was published by CavanKerry Press in 2010. Follow Nin's blog here. Follow Nin on Twitter here.

July 19, 2013

Yvan Goll (1891-1950) was a poet, playwright, novelist, and translator born in Alsace-Lorraine who wrote in German, French, and English. He later lived in Paris and the U.S. and was an active part of the literary circles in Paris and Greenwich Village, along with his wife, Claire Goll. In the final years of his life, suffering from leukemia, he devoted himself to writing the poems of Das Traumkraut, translated as Dreamweedby Nan Watkins and recently released in a bilingual edition by Black Lawrence Press. (See an interview with Watkins at The Brooklyn Rail.)

These poems, written in pain and in the knowledge of impending death, possess a hallucinatory urgency that ought rightly to earn them a place among the great lyric works of the 20th century in any language. So that his pain not be wasted, Goll transformed it into the kind of art that perhaps only the dying genius can create. For the true artist, nothing is wasted--not even suffering, not even death. Read Dreamweed and you will see that Goll was a true artist, to the end.

July 16, 2013

Keith
Flynn founded the literary magazine Asheville
Poetry Reviewin 1994. What began as a regional publication quickly grew to
a national one. Keith was the lead singer and lyricist of the band The Crystal
Zoo at the time, and he took every opportunity to place the magazine
with independent book stores around the country as he toured with the band. The
distribution and subscription base grew accordingly, as well as the breadth of
submissions from around the country, and indeed around the world. I started as
an intern in 2006, and shortly thereafter joined the staff as an Associate
Editor, and then later as Senior Editor, my current position. Today, 19 years
after our founding, we are distributed across the U.S. and Canada not only to
independent book stores but also to many chain book stores. In addition to
publishing poems, essays, reviews, and interviews, as we always have, we now
hold an annual single-poem contest, The William Matthews Poetry Prize, with a
guest judge each year.

Through
all of these changes, however, Asheville
Poetry Review has remained a rather
old-fashioned literary magazine. We only accept unsolicited submissions by mail,
and we remain an entirely print-based magazine (albeit with some archive
material online). We often wonder if this makes us a relic, or whether, in our
most whiskey-induced flights of fancy, we might number among the heroic proponents
of a noble tradition. Well, time will soon tell whether we can survive the
costs of operating as a print publication, a question that has become
increasingly difficult to answer each year, largely due to shrinking and
disappearing independent book stores and ever-increasing distribution costs.
With no outside funding or affiliation (by choice), we rely on subscriptions,
sales, and now the annual prize, for the entirety of our operating budget.

The
process of reading the thousands of submissions that come by mail each year is
an often pleasurable one—the tactile relationship with each envelope and page,
the visual elements of handwriting, the sounds of tearing and creasing. It
seems to me that this gives an editor a more intimate experience with each
submission, in the same way that—for me—reading a book or magazine in print is
more intimate and more fulfilling than reading it on a screen.

But
opening one’s doors to mail from the wide world allows for the possibility—and likelihood—of
the strange, the scary, and the hilarious. Here are some things that I’ve
received in envelopes over the years:

-A
be-sequined and be-glittered cover letter, complete with an airbrushed glamor
shot of the author.

-A
poem entitled “Sexy Jesus” which consisted of a graphic (GRAPHIC) depiction of
the author having sex with—you guessed it—Jesus. To top it off, a cover letter
enquiring as to whether we the editors had “the balls” to publish the poem.

-An
envelope in which every word on every page—and on the envelope itself—was
surrounded by and covered with small frenetic pen marks, somehow leaving most
of it just legible. I was shocked that the USPS had been able to deliver it. The
markings were so meticulous and so ubiquitous that they didn’t strike me as a
joke or anything done in the knowledge that it was abnormal. It filled me with concern
for the wellbeing of that person.

-A
series of envelopes containing barely legible handwritten haiku, adorned with
odd magazine clippings affixed to the page with all manner of adhesives,
including scotch tape, blue painter’s tape, and bandaids. Each submission
included a “Bonus” haiku at the end . . . Lucky us!

"Lively and affectionate" Publisher's Weekly. Now in paperback.Click image to order your copy.

Register now for our 5th annual session Jan 27 - Feb 3. “What better place to read, write, and talk about the art and craft of writing than Todos Santos, where all the saints of the sea and sky watch over you?” - Christopher Merrill

Radio

I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours laterto the greatnessof Teddy Wilson"After You've Gone"on the pianoin the cornerof the bedroomas I enterin the dark